BROOKE
It’s interesting how one fucked up decision can completely ruin your life. Well, not entirely. What it can do is lead to a series of fucked up decisions. That end up ruining your life. When, at seventeen, I decided to sleep with that handsome, popular football player every girl at school wanted, without really knowing him first, I had no idea about the repercussions of my actions. When, two months later, I found myself panicking, holding a positive pregnancy test, it was only natural to take responsibility for our actions. Surely, getting married was the right thing to do, right? Who could have known that it was just a rare event of a false positive test and exam nerves? We were already married by then, and I was committed, my future plans irrevocably altered. Ten years later, as I stare through the window, I inwardly curse every stupid, misguided decision I ever made. The summer rain is pelting the window in my kitchen. Sun is barely visible through low hanging clouds. I long for the sun. This warm window alcove in my oversized kitchen is the only truly cozy place in my house, but even that feels gloomy without sunlight. It’s Wednesday, late afternoon, and as each Wednesday, Davey is out with his country club buddies, getting sloshed. Reliving his glory days. He’s not even subtle about it, he knows fully well what he’s doing, living in the past, when there was no beer gut, no silk ties and board meetings, and above all else, no picture-perfect wife. I get up and allow my palm graze over the cold, white, marble counters. It’s all the same. Empty. Predictable. In a few moments, I know my phone will ring. It will be Alana. She knows, as well, that Davey’s gone, and thinks it’s a good time to talk freely, as she puts it. Gossip, would be more accurate. I kind of inherited Alana together with Davey, it was a package deal. Since she’s married to his cousin. Sure enough, my phone vibrates on the counter. For a moment, I eye it like it’s the enemy. Contemplate not answering, but that would make things worse. Alana doesn’t give up, and her persistent calls would only ruin the rest of my evening. And I do not want that to happen. I plaster a fake smile on my face, although this is not a video call, and swipe the screen
“Hi, Alana.”
“Hola, chica,” yells Alana’s voice in my ear. She thinks she knows how to speak Spanish. And that that fact is somehow worthy of advertising “Happy Wednesday!” she continues, undeterred by my silence “How are you on this lovely evening?”
“It’s raining cats and dogs outside, Alana. I would hardly call that lovely.”
“Yeah, yeah, but it’s your free evening, time to kick back and relax. Knowing that Davey of yours, he won’t be coming home before you go to sleep, so it’ll be practically tomorrow. What are your plans? I wish we would live closer so I could come over.”
“Just a warm bath. Glass of Scarecrow Cabernet and my music.”
She sighs heavily
“I guess it’s all right as relaxing goes. But, you know, live a little. You should lighten things up a bit. Anyway, you do you, girl. Do you know who I saw today again? Melanie. She’s supposed to be on sick leave, but I saw her again doing rounds at the market. And she was dressed up to the nines again. Of course, her version of dressed up, meaning showing as much skin as possible. I’m telling you, she’s so trashy she better not dilly-dally by the curb on garbage day.”
I choke out a laugh at that image. Having never met Melanie in person, I don’t know if the mental image it gave me in my head is correct, but it sure is funny. It’s almost worth the rest of the boring, stilted, well, from my side stilted, conversation I end up enduring, until Alana feels satisfied that she did her familial duty. The phone feels hot in my hand when we finally say goodbye. Which is a shame, since I need to use it again. This time, the smile on my face is genuine when I select the contact that says ‘Heater Maintenance’. The voice that answers is gruff, deep and manly, and it sends shivers down all the way to my toes. They curl involuntarily, sinking deeper into the soft carpet. My tasteful and very much expensive almost natural-looking pedicure shining against the white carpet
“Talk to me,” he says, as always sounding almost angry. Like he hates the fact that I called. Or that anybody called. Perhaps he just hates phones. On my good days, this is the option I chose to believe in. Today’s not a good day. Still, that doesn’t stop me to say what I need
“Hey, he’s not home. Can you make it out my way?”
“Be there in twenty.”
It took me the longest time to accept that he just hangs up, without goodbye. I even asked once, he told me it’s just how he talks. Economy of speech, I guess is what it sounded like. Often, after days spent in empty platitudes, I wish I had courage to do the same. Still, it feels weird, unfinished, and I’m left holding the phone in my hand, expecting... something. My insecurity, another thing that I wish I could get rid of, makes me walk to the mirror. Look at every detail with a critical eye. Do I still look like back in high school? I’m even a bit skinnier, which is good. My boobs are starting to sag already, or it’s just my imagination. The curse of large boobs, gravity and age. But 27 is not old. Why do I feel like it sometimes? Lifting my shirt that doubles as a dress, I palm my flat stomach, searching for fat. I tug my underwear down, exposing a narrow, blonde, trimmed landing strip. Feeling uncharacteristically naughty, I twirl the panties around my finger, and allow them to land wherever they may. My uptight side makes an appearance again and forces me to note that I’ll have to search for them later. Sometimes I feel like slapping myself. Can’t I ever switch off? Just switch it all off and enjoy? I twist my wedding band around my finger nervously, pulling it halfway up my finger, and then back down. That’s my answer. Sometimes I think that ring should belong on my middle finger instead. It sure did fuck my life over. And there’s this one little thing, just one, that I’ve claimed back. For me. One evening a week I get to imagine what if things turned out differently. Glancing at the phone, I see I’ve already wasted too much time. Hurrying to the garage door, I almost trip down the stairs and stumble all the way to the trunk of my car. Popping it open, I rummage under the flowery pink blanket that I know Davey wouldn’t touch in a million years, since he would be afraid that his dick would fall off or something. Not that it would make a lot of difference to his appearance. My fingers connect with a 6-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon which I have absolutely no reason to hold in house whatsoever. No justification to haul it upstairs and put it on ice, hoping it will cool in time. It is my one concession to my guest, to try and pretend that this is more than it is. I won’t offer him food, we won’t cuddle and watch TV. We won’t talk about anything that matters. But I will watch his Adam’s apple bob while he drinks his beer, his eyes closed, his head tilted back, shoulder long dirty blond hair that could use a good washing falling away from his face. When he burps and swipes the foam away from his lips with the back of his palm, his green eyes will connect with mine for a second, and I’ll get to imagine he cares. But it’s only the beer he likes. I slam the fridge closed a little too hard, just in time to hear the engine roar and die outside. The knocker on the door rattles, like somebody wants to tear them down. I don’t need to check, even if I wasn’t expecting him, I’d know those sounds could only belong to him. So I plaster my best seductive smile, check my reflection in the polished steel of the appliance and let the oversized shirt I’m wearing slip down exposing one shoulder. Satisfied, I saunter toward the door and enjoy the view that greets me. Six-foot-two of male perfection. Lean muscular body dressed in snug, well-worn denim. Biker boots planted firmly on my brand new, expensive custom-made coir mat. White t-shirt only emphasizing the black leather cut covered in patches. I don’t need to read them anymore, I know them all by heart. They declare his allegiance to Black Souls MC, and his part in it. Sergeant at Arms. One ringed and heavily inked hand rises and flips shoulder-long hair out of the way. Moss green eyes look at me angrily. But also, hungrily. It was like this with us from the start. He’s always looking at me like he wants to eat me. And I have been his willing prey.
“Lee. Come in,” is what I finally say when I find my voice. But he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes move from my face and zero in on my boobs instead. I swallow thickly and find back into my part. Flirty and carefree
“My eyes are up here, buddy,” I tease.
“Sure, babe, but your tits are down there. You wanna move and let me in? On second thought...” he grabs me, strong arms banding around my waist, and turns us, so I’m still standing in the same place, but he’s inside now. One booted heel kicks the door closed, and they slam with finality. I always feel so small in his arms. Deliciously small in the best of ways. I can feel the roughness of callouses as his hand skims my naked thigh, going up. Large fingers brush my folds
“No underwear, somebody’s been ready for me. Good, makes things easier. And I’m all about easy.”
His finger rubs that perfect spot, up and down, then tracing a slow circle, then down again. Anticipation builds. My pulse is thumping between my legs. My whole consciousness is centered there
“Please,” I breathe out.
He ignores me, continuing his torment. Only answer I get is when his other hand latches onto my breast, fingers starting to give my nipple the same treatment as my lower parts are getting. Slow, almost gentle caresses that are designed to drive me crazy. And anticipation, it’s killing me. I never know when he moves up from my clit toward my center, when will he give me more. I squirm, raising on my toes, try to chase his finger, but his other hand adjusts me back.
“Please,” I moan again. I need it. Need him. His head bowed, he kisses my nipple, sucking and laving it with his tongue, leaving a wet spot on my shirt. While I’m distracted by arching my back, trying to thrust my breasts more firmly towards him, his fingers, two at a time, spear into me and I make a sound, half strangled moan, half sigh of relief. With flawless expertise, the fingers curl and move inside me, stroking the spot I swore to all my friends it’s a myth before I let Lee show me how wrong I was. He scissors his fingers every now and then, just enough to make me even more crazy. His hand also lifts a little bit each time, and soon I’m balancing on my toes, riding his hand shamelessly. I can feel my wetness coating his palm as I rub my clit against it. Perfect, just like that. He speeds up, as usual in tune with my body, and the slow shaking of my body becomes more pronounced. My orgasm, when it finally comes, catches me by surprise. When aftershocks subside, I find myself slumped helplessly in his arms, like a rag doll. Sounds return. Then slowly, my brain comes back online. Too late to prevent my tongue from blurting out
“That was great.”
I regret it the moment it came out. This is not who we are, we don’t do that kind of honesty. When he smirks and offers
“You expected anything less?”
I step back on my own two feet and look up at his smug face. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there’s even a beginning of a smirk building right there at the corner of those full lips
“Wow. If your head swells some more, you won’t be able to fit it in the room,” I declare, to cover up my blunder.
With a growl, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder in a fireman carry. I guess that’s what I get for poking the bear. One large mitt lands on my ass that is now dangling over his shoulder and I issue an undignified squeal.
“You’ve got too much clothes on,” he grumbles as he throws me on my bed several huge steps later. I bounce up and down but look back up at him, challenge in my eyes
“You too.”
He removes his cut with care, hanging it on my makeup chair. The holster thumps landing on the floor. The same with belt buckle and boots. Now barefoot he stomps toward the bed, lifting his t-shirt with one arm. Firm abs, more ink, and a set of pectorals that he contracts in a muscle wink in another typical show-off move. His knee lands on the bed and I scoot backward, my shirt rising, exposing naked, pale flesh.
“Too. Much. Clothes,” he grumbles, swiping through my shirt, sending buttons flying. His knee spreads my legs, body towering over me. I’m pinned down on the bed, hands held up and over my head by the wrists, his hips holding me immobile. My heart is thumping like crazy, my greedy pussy wanting more friction from the rough denim. My eyes are glued to the huge bulge that threatens to bust his zipper. I cannot look away. Seriously, the aliens could have landed, and I wouldn’t be able to look away. He knows it, that’s why he’s opening his jeans torturously slowly. Finally, he’s pushing the jeans down, just enough to expose a firm, round muscular ass. But although the ass in question is delicious, it is not what makes saliva pool in my throat. It’s the desire to feel that perfect cock, long and thick and oh so hard, which I know will deliver another thing I thought elusive before. Just knowing it makes my anticipation skyrocket. If it were up to me, I’d just jump on him, I need him to make this empty ache go away. But he’s in control and in a mood to torment me. He’s allowing only the tip to touch me, stretching my entrance, while his hips slowly rock only by the tiniest increments. It feels heavenly, but I need him to fill me. Desperate for more, I try to squirm out of his grip and push forward, but he holds me firmly in place
“Nah, babe, not yet.”
I’m panting and on the edge of another orgasm, when he finally pushes into me, all the way to the hilt. That first stretching feeling is always indescribable, but this time it immediately makes me explode. He fucks me hard and fast through my orgasm, heavy mahogany bed with an ornate frame that should theoretically stand still through anything, is thumping against the wall from the force of his thrusts. I’m so sensitive from what happened before, but my body recognizes its master and is ready to chase it again
“Faster,” I demand through moans, each of his forceful thrusts is by now accompanied by tortured sounding groan worthy of a porn star. And what’s best, I don’t even have to try for it. Not faking it like with Davey. No, they’re fully real and out of my control.
“No,” he answers “Take it how I give it to you.”
I still attempt to move my hips, try to free my hands, and reluctantly, he allows it, letting my hands go. Immediately, I latch onto his delectable ass and try to direct him the way I want him to. At this point, by his grunts I think the point is moot, since he’s speeding up all by himself. He’s getting there.
“I’m gonna fill you up so full of my cum, you’re gonna be dripping for days.”
It does something to me, his voice together with his cock. Moves me into that zone and we’re racing together now, slapping of flesh on flesh reaching a crescendo. His cock is getting even thicker, my greedy flesh closing around his girth. He plants himself violently all the way with one almighty thrust, throws his head back, veins engorged on a muscular neck and roars his release in a sound that is half drawn-out
“Fuck,” and half bellow.
At the same moment I feel his warm release coating my insides, I come with him in another explosion of sparks that take over my whole body. For a moment, we’re lying entwined, clutching each other. Then, reality intrudes, and he lets me go, rolling to his side. I miss his green eyes hovering above me. The bed dips as he moves into a sitting position, his back to me, still breathing hard. As usual at this point, I’m left with a single thought. I wish it was him. I wish it was him, not Davey, that took my virginity back in high school. For the longest time I dreamed it will be him, but I finally had to accept that he’ll never show any interest in the awkward, nerdy girl I once was. He didn’t. And here we are.
I’m lying down in the middle of rumpled sheets, exhausted and sweaty, my legs spread obscenely since I have no strength or willpower left to move them. And am trying real hard to concentrate on the next tasks ahead. On changing the sheets. Taking an extra long shower. Or even a bath. Everything to prevent myself from watching Lee now that our time together is over. I can feel the emptiness of another long week looming ahead. This, it is the worst time as the countdown begins again, till the next moment I get to feel alive. That is what my life has become. Collection of stolen hours each week, adding down to nothing. If only... I wish Lee was a different person. Settling down kind. Or a dating kind. Or even, a one woman kind. I like to think that I’d leave Davey for him. Leave this house that feels like a tomb. But I can’t go there, cannot allow myself to think, or the tears will come. And Lee will never get to see me cry. Not because I’d like to pretend that I’m stronger than that, no it is because that’s not what we’re about. I have to keep it light and fun or he won’t come back. And that, that I couldn’t bear. So I shut my eyes tightly one final time, pushing it all back. When I open them again, there’s a calm smile all over my face as I reach down and hand him his discarded shirt from the floor
“That was amazing as usual. Same time next week?”
His broad shoulders straighten. He’s got an incredible back. The muscles. The ink. I wish things were different. I wish I could invite him back in bed. His voice is gruff as he answers his usual
“We’ll see.”
I don’t walk him out. Instead, I lay in bed until I hear the door closing downstairs, followed almost immediately by the roar of the bike. Then, silence. It fills me, pressing on me. To escape it, I walk naked to the en suite bathroom, and the giant, round, sunken tub that is a centerpiece in a black marble room. I climb inside before I let the water flow and just sit there, watching the water level rising. As soon as it’s deep enough, I sink down, down all the way, water closing over my head and hold my breath the longest I can. And wonder, what it would be like to let myself drown. Just stay like that. Would I have the strength to end it all. As usual, my throat tightens and my chest starts to ache, and I explode back into a sitting position.
